Raining on Sunday
by Saint Lonely
Summary: On one rainy Sunday, Scott can finally face what's happened to him. *Set after X2, some spoilers* Please r/r.


Disclaimer: You know the drill. Its not now, nor ever was or will be mine. Curses upon Stan Lee! (Genius.)  
  
Author's Note: Quite out of the character norm for me... Hope you like it! Oh, and it is based somewhat on the song by Keith Urban.  
  
Raining On Sunday  
  
Scott Summers looked out his window and checked his calendar at the same time. Sunday had arrived, and it was raining, pounding with steady teardrops that were his own. He cried when no one was around, when no one could hear, late at night. His pillows had become tearstained and had never really dried. He slept each night on his pain, knowing it would never go away. And no one know he cried, save maybe Professor Xavier. The man was crawling around in his mind, searching for something.  
  
Hope.  
  
Scott knew he didn't have it, and had told the Professor it wasn't worth looking for. Hope was a word that sounded strange to his tongue, an alien invading into his black, soulless and empty world. All hope had been lost the day Jean had died, left him alone, just to save his life. He didn't deserve to live, and she didn't need to die. He knew she just wanted to prove herself worthy of the X-Men, but her feat needn't welcome death.  
  
Scott's eyes shot below his window, where his garage waited. Every vehicle in there needed something repaired upon it, and each was just begging to be driven. It was no longer a matter of needing to repair them, but one of wanting to, and he mentally slammed the red metal toolbox closed.  
  
But it was raining on Sunday, and he had better things to do.  
  
A picture of Jean sat by his bed, and with tender, gentle hands, he picked the small photograph up. He stroked the glass with his index finger, tracing the outline of her face, torso, and then her legs. It was a young Jean, as she looked when he had first met her and fallen in love.  
  
She was still the same woman now, or rather, would've been. She had grown into her new body, and new image, but she was still the same. He would give anything to have her back, even his life, but he knew his death wouldn't accomplish anything, said a small voice in the back of his head, one he knew was Jean's.  
  
More photos Jean lingered around the whole of his room, but he chose to turn his back upon them. Just one brought back a million memories, and even they were too over-bearing. Now, he didn't need all of them pressing their burden down upon him. On later days he would gaze at them, and experience a million more then.  
  
Several of them flashed in his mind; a small kiss, soft touch, sweet embrace, an angel with red hair spilling around her, sleeping next to him. More and more kept coming, fading in and out, until finally, one paused and promised to play itself out.  
  
The sun was shining, beaming its love down on them. Far away, in the distance, a family of mockingbirds sang their cries, filling the forests with a daunting melody. A small doe grazed upon a patch of grass, swaying slightly with the wind, dancing to the haunting tune.  
  
"I'm Jean," spoke a young teenager's voice. She was still gawky and awkward, just beginning to bloom. A pair of tinted sunglasses sat upon her nose, and flared blue jeans clung to her hips. A tank top, tye-dyed and worn, hung loosely around her chest, and a band of daisies wrapped around her neck. They'd been intricately woven together with love and care. "Jean Grey."  
  
Scott couldn't remember what he had worn the first time he'd met his love, and he cursed himself for that. He needed to recall every detail about the moments they shared together, for his own sake. Without them, he'd go crazy and senile too early in his young life. However, another pair of sunglasses floated into his mind, with pure black lenses that he kept pushed in front of his eyes.  
  
"I'm Scott Summers," he'd said, trying his hardest not to let his voice betray him. Everything about him was changing, and he didn't want it to ruin any chances he might have with the gorgeous girl. He breathed easy then, for his voice was deep and manly, and hadn't sweaked.  
  
"Are you a mutant too?" Jean blurted with some ease. Several of them had been reported already in the USA, and more in Europe and Austrailia, and Charles Xavier had openly welcomed them into his home and school.  
  
Scott smiled and pushed his sunglasses back as far as they would go. "Yeah," he nodded. "What's your power?"  
  
" I can move things with my mind."  
  
"What kind of things?"  
  
"All kinds."  
  
Scott felt his glasses sliding down his nose, and he noted the smile on Jean's face. Quickly, he adverted his eyes and stared at an old, rotten tree. Red beams shot from his eyes, and Jean gasped, shoving the glasses back up.  
  
"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"  
  
"A little," he admitted, and secured the frames at his eyes.  
  
Jean reached out and traced the side of one of the frames. She smiled gently and stared into what she hoped were his eyes. "I want to help you," she whispered and she placed a soft kiss on his cheek.  
  
Scott smile and opened his eyes. The imprint of Jean's kiss burned onto his skin, but the flames tickled his lips into a smile. Xavier had allowed the demolished tree to sit for several years, serving as a reminder of their first meeting. It had slowly decomposed even more, and then was the center of a week's science class.   
  
And sure enough, she had helped him. Young, and determined, Jean and Professor Xavier had helped him control his power, making him glasses and the such to shield the world from his destruction. And ever since then, Scott knew that she would always care for him and they would be together for ther rest of thier lives.  
  
Scott thought back again to when Ororo had graced their lives. She'd arrived in a frenzied storm, one of tornadic winds, smashing hail, pelting rain, and continuos lightning and thunder, and she seemed to be the only one not affected by the gusting tempest. Xavier was guiding the lost mutant, speaking inside her mind, and somehow, Scott knew not how, Ororo had trusted him and followed his directions.   
  
She had marched right up to the front door and let herself in, and made her way to the sitting room were the Professor, himself, and Jean lay. It was easy enough to find, for the school Xavier held then was small and homely. Now, it was a towering mansion with huge, black cast iron gates, acres of free land and forests, a jet, and an underground laboratory that catered to Jean.  
  
Ororo had been scared, lost, alone, and confuse, at least she was until Professor Xavier had found her. Still she was scared and confused, and all she knew was the cruelty of the outside world. She was running from the rest of humanity, the ones who had disowned her with daunting chants and wicked smiles.  
  
"I'm Ororo Munroe," she had stated, summoning up all her courange into those three words, and all they had nodded. "Where am I?"  
  
"You're in Weschester, New York," said the Professor, parting his lips in a reassuring smile. Her feared expession slowly faded, recognizing the fatherly voice as the one in her head. "Do not be scared, Ororo, for we here are all mutants as well. I run a school for the gifted, and you certainly are." Xavier's eyes twinkled as he glanced out the window. Water splattered on the panes and the rooftop, and with the hail, just about drown out his words.   
  
"Oh!" Ororo exclaimed, and slowly, her wide, white eyes slowly returned to those of a chocolate colored iris that blended well with ther mocha skin. The winds died down, and now the rain only sprinkled down upon them. A few more bolts of lightning erupted, followed but one low, rumbling clap of thunder.  
  
"I'm Jean," the fire-haired girl spoke up, raising her body into full view. Her pale skin accented the hue of her hair, and she smiled warmly up to the weather goddess.  
  
"And I'm Scott," he had said, presenting his hand. Ororo had taken it, delicately, and shook it, smiling down at him. She sighed as she dropped his hand, then plopped her aching frame down on the sofa, between Jean and himself.  
  
"Welcome home, Ororo," Professor Xavier murmured.  
  
Scott slowly allowed his eyes to flutter open, and he looked outside again. The storm was rising, almost to the heights of the one Ororo had first created. Below his window, past the garage, planted deep inside the ground was a carved white cross that withstood the fury of the winds.   
  
Jean's body had never been found, and the suspected it had washed away somewhere. Scott couldn't stand the thought of her drifting around, lost, for some unsuspecting soul to find an angel, dead. Their world would halt to a stop then and there, and he or she would pray for forgiveness.   
  
In memorial, he'd stuck the cross in the ground, close to where the tree had been on thier first meeting. He lay flowers there every week, and never let them wilt. He took good care of the life around it, nurturing it as if it were Jean's body he was tending to. To him it was, and it was the only part of her he could still shepherd.  
  
Scott turned his back on the cross and lay his body onto his bed. He slept now on Jean's side of the mattress, and sometimes at night, he could still feel her there. It was warmer on her side anyhow, now that his heart lay cold and empty. In his mind, he grazed over the list of things he needed to do, places to go, but he smiled and ignored them. His stomach rumbled, but he avoided that as well.  
  
It was raining on Sunday, and he had better things to do.  
  
Author's Note: Did you like it? Hope so. I usually don't write about Scott and Jean, as you know if you've read anything else of mine.   
  
Please review! I'd really appreciate it right now. (Bad day? HA! Bad life...) 


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